


Up on the Hill

by philips



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: ludendorff musings, mainly headcanons and self-indulgent descriptions, pre-game sad stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:20:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4359395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philips/pseuds/philips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor goes for a walk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up on the Hill

Walking had always been a form of meditation for Trevor. Sitting still was near impossible for him, especially considering the amount of speed he began taking ever since North Yankton. Walking, running, hiking- anything to get his body up and moving rather than just stewing in his apartment or trailer or wherever the fuck he was staying that night. Breathing in the fresh air, taking in the new and changing environment around him, it all made him feel less helpless, as if his crumbling life was left back inside as he stepped out the door.

After about two years of trying to pick himself back up in Ludendorff, Trevor had packed his bags and left for San Andreas. Although it had been so long since his best friend had been killed, it was still burned in his memory with an iron poker. Shot in the chest. Abandoned in the snow. Regardless, Trevor tried to move on. He never bothered forming a new crew. Instead, he began looking for other lines of work. Namely, drugs. That was almost always his fallback. In fact, he was pretty damn good at it, too. He’d been a weed dealer in high school, netting him not only a hefty pay but also a circle of friends. Or at least people that fuckin’ respected him. His next round of dealing came after his grounding from the Canadian Royal Air Force. Club drugs, mainly, as he was then selling to people in their mid-twenties. Trevor prided himself in knowing his market. Then he got sucked into the jobs, the theft, the fast cars, fast women, and fast money. He bought drugs instead of dealing them. Life had been good, finally. He fucking deserved it. But then everything went to shit. And now here he was, starting up his new trade in the meth capital of the country, maybe even the world. He was going to make a name for himself out here. Trevor Philips Industries, he mused. What a fucking piece of work that’ll be.

Trevor pulled off his Ludendorff Beavers cap, scratching his newly-receding hairline before placing the hat back on as he squinted up the mountain trail. He had driven up to Grapeseed from his new trailer in Sandy Shores, parking at the base of the Mount Chiliad trail before climbing out of his “borrowed” truck and starting up the mountain. The massive and foreboding Mount Chilliad had been occupying his mind for what felt like weeks. Every time he glanced outside towards the Alamo Sea, he saw it. It felt oppressive, daunting, unyielding. He couldn’t understand why he began to hate it so much, but he did. It looked like it was challenging him, watching him as he ate his cereal in the mornings and judging his character while he went over to his developing meth lab over the Ace Liquor across town. Finally, after glaring at it from across the sea for a good deal longer than it felt, he pushed himself up from the grody beach and climbed into his truck, resolving to climb the motherfucker or die trying. The drive there had been less than kind to him. Although it was hardly an hour to Grapeseed, it was a grueling journey. Trevor found himself staring up at the landmass, seething and gripping his steering wheel with white knuckles. The mountain stared back, following Trevor just as the eyes of old portraits are wont to do. He was honestly surprised he had even made it to the mountain at all, as it felt like it had grown further and further as he approached it. And now, as he stood in front of it, he was overwhelmed with the feeling of anxiety towards being near the thing. It radiated doom and impossibility. Trevor shifted from one foot to another, glancing around himself nervously.

Above all, though, he felt embarrassed. Embarrassed of being belittled by a fucking bunch of dirt and rocks. He had spent all his life being belittled. He had been rejected, denied, corrected, replaced, forgotten, and ignored by almost every person he had encountered. And now the only one that hadn’t been so cruel was gone. And now he had to be put in his fucking place by a god damn pile of stone. He took a deep breath, balancing himself on his two feet. He squeezed his hands into fists for an instant before forcing himself to relax them. It was only a mountain. A hill. A _molehill_. It was nothing, and he was definitely bigger and better than nothing. He took a step forward and began to travel up the mountain.

The sun was setting behind the great Mount Chiliad, and from Trevor’s perspective all that could be seen was the vibrant colors of sunset glowing on the horizon. A fire bellowed along the Pacific Ocean, reaching up towards the deep navy sky that was beginning to reveal the freckled night. It was peaceful around him. A soft delicate breeze carried itself across the path, whispering through small outcrops of grass and whirling pools of fine desert dust together. Each of his steps sounded enormously loud compared to the serenity of the evening. It was immediately calming to him. As his legs worked beneath him, Trevor’s mind was released from the chains of anxiety and self-loathing. All he could think about was putting one foot in front of another as the night grew around him.

It was much later when Trevor reached the top of the mountain. His arrival was more anticlimactic that he had imagined, however the couple hours of climbing had made himnumb to all sensory. He dragged himself to the wooden viewing platform, sitting on the steps and collapsing backwards so that he could focus every muscle on breathing. He closed his eyes for a few moments as he caught his breath. The air tasted sweet to him. It was different than the dusty desert air and the rank and cold Ludendorff air he had become so used to. It was clear up above San Andreas. The air was clean and warm. It bathed him in comfort and filled his lungs readily. After a minute or two of remaining in this posture, Trevor pulled his arm over to his head and pulled off his cap once more, this time tossing it aside. It toppled over the side of the platform and onto the ground beside it. He didn’t much care. He brought his hand back down and spread his arms out beside him, opening his eyes. The crescent moon smiled down at him from above. Around it, stars danced around the sky, twinkling as Trevor shifted his focus from one light to the next. He had always been curious about why stars seemed brighter in your peripheral vision than when you looked directly at them. It had reminded him a lot of the people he’d met over the years, or at least the majority of them. Promising and loyal when you first meet, but utter shits when you get to know them. There must be some kind of universal understanding that things are never as they appear, Trevor concluded. He scanned the sky for constellations, picking out the Big Dipper and Little Dipper easily and then finding Orion’s Belt. He could recall a few others from the astronomy class he had taken in high school so many years ago, however he couldn’t exactly figure out where they were. Silently, he stared up at the night sky for a while longer, breathing in the complexity of it all. It was astounding to him how small he was. And yet, it wasn’t a belittling small. Not like how he felt with the mountain. It was humbling. Nothing really mattered. Sure, Michael was dead. But sooner or later, Trevor would be dead, too. And Brad will die, and that fucker Norton will die, and every last person on this planet will die. And nothing really mattered.

With a grunt, Trevor pushed himself up from the platform and stepped off of it. He brought his hand up to scratch his head again and began to make his way back down the mountain. The hill. The molehill. The nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a little break from Fugitive to write some bland and plotless stuff. I'll probably have more like this, regardless of how boring it might be. Thanks for reading!


End file.
